I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

“Hey, novato, what’s up?” Gabe asks, sliding into the seat next to me on the bus.

I choke on my own breath, blush, and squirm uncomfortably in my seat. “Oh! I, uh … Gabe!” I manage, staring miserably out the window as my cheeks flame. “Hi.”

“Hola to you too,” he replies, giving me a weird look. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I squeak, feeling sweat roll down the back of my neck. “Simply peachy. Why do you ask?”

“Hmm,” Gabe muses, then leans over to whisper in my ear. “Maybe because you look as though your head is about to explode.”

I tense up as his lips brush against my ear. “Uhh … it’s nothing,” I mumble. “Just, um … er, nothing.”

“If you insist,” Gabe says with a resigned sigh and affectionately ruffles my hair. “Just … you can always talk to me, novato. You know that, right?”

“R-right.”

I’m trying, and failing, as hard as I can to keep a straight face, to keep my cool, to not lose it, but panicking on about five different levels.

Oh god, does this mean I have a crush on Gabe?

Oh god, what if I’m gay?

Oh god, what did I do to bring this upon myself?

Oh god, can I get away from this? Oh god, please?

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

So when the bus finally pulls up at school, I take off running down the halls until I find Brendon and fling myself into his arms.

“Whoa!” he exclaims, reeling from the impact. “Hey there, Ryan.”

“Brendon,” I mumble and bury my nose in his neck. “Brendon. Brendon. Brendon. Brendon.”

He doesn’t say anything and his lips brush softly against my hair and I know that he’s really asking me the same thing Gabe asked me on the bus—

You okay?

My lips part ever so slightly and I realize that I’m about to spill everything—everything!—to Brendon when the bell rings.

We spring apart like startled bunnies. “Uh, English,” I mumble, charging down the hall, with Brendon racing after me.

“I know! I’m in your class!

“Ryan!”

I sit in English class, pen to paper, doodling aimlessly, which is weird because I’m a writer not a painter, so why am I drawing? Before I know it, the margins of my notebook are covered in scrawls of the monsters from Greek myths. Hydra. Charybdis and Scylla. The Chimera. Typhon. The Nemean Lion. Echidnae.

Brendon peeks over my shoulder. “Wow, Ryan, I had no idea you were such an artist,” he says softly.

“Oh, um, I’m not … really …” I mumble, sliding my hand over to cover the scribbles as embarrassment floods my face.

“Sure you are.”

“No, no, I’m really not!”

“Ross, Urie, your attention please?”

I jump in my seat and Brendon quickly springs back to his own. “Sorry,” I mumble and pretend to focus my attention back on the board.

* * *

“You’ve been quiet all day,” William points out in a lofty voice.

It’s lunch now and I’m sitting in between Gabe and Brendon. “Who? Me?” I ask, looking up from my tray.

“No, Brendon,” William replies with a roll of his eyes. “You know, the boy who never shuts up? Yes you.”

“Hey!” Brendon exclaims, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m a little bit worried about our Ryan,” William says.

“Oh! Um, no, I’m fine,” I mumble and turn to Gabe, begging him to save me from this awkwardness. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to get the message. “Uh, would you say something in Spanish for me?” I ask as prettily as I can manage.

He raises one eyebrow, bemused. “Oh, querida, tengo tanto miedo de lo que podría estar haciendo. La caída para mí?” he says, a funny sort of laugh dropping from his lips. “No seas tan estúpido. Sólo terminará en un corazón roto para usted. No hagas esto, novato, por favor. Para mí?”

Sometimes I really wish that I had taken Spanish instead of German in middle school, I muse to myself, watching Gabe’s lips move and feeling my face grow hotter and hotter. It’s truly sick how turned on I am by these words I do not understand.